Imprisoned
by Estora
Summary: Sam and Emily, the perfect, loving, devoted couple. It's like they're in a prison, trapped by devotion...and something else.


_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Stephenie Meyer. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

_Author's notes:__ Edited version, after many years! The tenses are all fixed up and some of the phrasing tidied._

* * *

**IMPRISONED**

"_Emily."_

_I look up at the sound of the love-saturated voice I'm now so accustomed to hearing, and watch him cross the room in one stride. I can say nothing as he takes my face in his wide hands and leans down to kiss the right side of my face – the scars – before he presses his lips to mine._

_Jared complains in the background, but I barely hear him. Sam retorts then kisses my ruined mouth again._

* * *

_Devotion_, whispered the mercilessly cold voice in the back of her mind as she stared at herself in the mirror. That was all he seemed to know. Pure, unconditional, devotion.

Her fingers steadily dragged down the three scars on the right side of her face. In the mirror it looked like the left; three thick livid red lines, stretching from hairline to chin, despite the fact that they had long since healed.

Her eye, once dark and almond-shaped, like the other, was pulled down, and the corner of her mouth was twisted into a permanent grimace.

She'd been beautiful once.

The burning sensation of tears pricked at the back of her left eyelid – the all too familiar sting of tears. She closed her eyes and the tears leaked out, trickling from her face to the sink in a fluid motion, leaving a wet trail on her unscarred cheek. The other remained dry – she couldn't cry from that eye any longer. The damage had been too great.

(She didn't remember what it felt like to have tears fall from that side.)

But it didn't matter, she told herself, brushing the moisture from her face.

He loved her. He didn't care what her face looked like.

* * *

_I've never hated anymore more in my life than I hate this boy right now. How dare he. How dare he! The nerve he must have, to approach me to tell me he loves me. The bastard, I don't even know him._

_And Leah…oh, poor Leah._

_She loves him so much, and here he is before me, confessing his 'love'. In my anger, I hardly know what I'm saying – or spitting, or yelling – at him after he tells me his Imprinted on me, but he's getting angrier and angrier, almost as angry as I am. I can see it, just about feel his rage radiating off him. Eyes narrowed, breathing in short gasps of air – perhaps it's my imagination but the temperate gets warmer. _

_I know I should stop. He's losing control – well, darn him, so am I. Everything just keeps coming out, how he's betraying Leah and her love for him, that I don't love him –_

_I hate him._

_He lunges._

_I don't remember much after that – just the pain exploding on the right side of my face, and hearing my own screams in my ears, raw and brutal, torn from my throat. It hurts, it hurts so much –_

_Leah._

_Leah._

* * *

Someone knocked at the door and she frowned. She wasn't expecting anyone today, but she placed the plate on the drying rack and wiped her hands on the tea towel before moving to greet her visitor. It couldn't have been Sam – he lived there, wouldn't knock – and it wasn't one of the boys; they would have just invited themselves in.

Leah.

She tried to contain her excitement. Leah never came around anymore – and with good reason. She didn't blame her cousin. The smile quickly fell from her face when she remembered this.

"Hey, Em," Leah said with strained lightness.

"Hey," Emily breathed. "Come in –"

"It won't be for long," Leah interrupted. "I just wanted to talk to you. Is Sam here?"

* * *

"_Emily?"_

_The breath catches in my throat. I can recognise that voice, that awful voice, anywhere. I don't look up. I don't want to see him._

"_Don't," I whisper._

"_Emily, please –"_

_He's closer now. The light scent of flowers fill the room but I honestly don't care for them. All I can feel are the bandages on my face and arm, his burning claws tearing through my skin, the pain, the smell of my own blood…_

* * *

"No," she replied meekly. "Sam isn't here. Did you want to talk to him…?"

Leah shook her head, but was obviously relieved. "No, only you. But it's about Sam."

* * *

"_Emily, I'll do anything. I'm so sorry. I'll even…I'll even kill myself if it makes you feel better. I'm so, so sorry, Emily…"_

_He would kill himself?_

_For my sake?_

_What the hell does he think he's playing at? Threatening suicide? Putting his death on my hands as well as the scars he'd already marked me with?_

_My head whips around at his suicide threat. "You'll what?"_

_He look grieved but resolute. "I will, Emily. If it'll make you feel better, I swear I'll throw myself under the nearest train or bus or off a cliff –"_

"_No!"_

_I will not be responsible for this bastard's death! What more does he want of me? What more does he want me to do to Leah? Damn him. Just damn him! He's already mutilated me and now he wants me to tell him to go and kill himself? I just want him to leave me alone – not to emotionally manipulate me into telling him to go and kill himself!_

_That bastard. That stupid, idiotic, disgusting Imprinting._

_I won't let him win. I won't let the Imprinting win._

"_No," I repeat more gently. "I don't want you to do that. Ever."_

_He looks at me with pained eyes. "But Emily, I can never forgive myself, what I did to you –"_

_The hell he shouldn't. What he did to me? What he did to _Leah_?_

_No, he will never forgive himself._

_I take the flowers from his hands and smell them. To anyone else they'd smell beautiful, fresh and crisp. They smell like blood to me. "Can we just…sit and talk for a bit, Sam?"_

* * *

Her hands gripped the table so tightly her knuckles turned white. With her back turned to Leah, her cousin couldn't see her face, her eyes, squeezed tightly shut to stop the inevitable flow of tears.

"…I don't hate you, Emily. Even after what you did to me, stabbing me in the back and, and turning around and loving Sam back, even after what he did to you…"

She couldn't speak, couldn't listen, couldn't breathe –

"You love him, I get it –"

"_I hate him!_"

The words, brutal and forceful, finally escaped from their prison which was her throat. Her hand smacked the table as she rounded on Leah, her unmarred eye burning.

"_I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!_"

* * *

_Sometimes I sit in front of my mirror in the mornings, when he's just waking up. I know he watches me – he can't help himself._

_My fingers drag down the three scars on my face, whenever I sit in front of that cursed mirror. Three thick livid red lines, forever present. Sometimes I like to cry._

_He watches me._

_He doesn't know I watch him as well._

* * *

Eventually the young woman quieted and took a deep shuddering breath. Leah stared at Emily in shock, shaken by the confession.

"Emily?" Leah asked. "What…?"

"_Look what he did to my face!_" Emily shrieked, pointing at her marred flesh. "_Look what he did to you!_"

* * *

"_God, Emily, I love you. So, so much."_

_If you really loved me, I feel like saying every time he tells me that, you wouldn't have slashed my face. But I don't say that._

"_I know, Sam. I love you too," I lie._

_I take his hand and kiss his fingers._

_His eyes close._

_Then I move his fingers to the three deep gashes running down my face, and make them trace the marks he made._

_I don't look at him, but I know what his expression must be and I hide a smile. I hear the change in his breathing – sharp, panicky._

_Guilty._

_I release his hand and roll over. "I haven't spoken to Leah for ages, Sam. I miss her. Do you…do you think she'll ever forgive you?"_

_I don't ever say 'us'._

_Or 'me'._

* * *

Much later, after her outburst, the two young women retreated to the couch. Leah's arm wrapped around Emily's shoulders.

_I'm scared of him, Leah_, Emily whispered.

Leah brushed away a tear from her face and nodded. _I'm sorry I blamed you._

They were silent for a long while afterwards, even though Leah still had one burning question. But she didn't say it, because she didn't think she wanted to know.

So she didn't ask, and didn't for a very long time.

And yet, the question lingered…

_Why are you staying?_

* * *

_I make sure he comes home to find me crying. I do that a lot._

_Today in particular, I've been going through old family photos. Mostly of me, and Leah. When we were younger, carefree – best friends._

_There's this one picture I love above all others. I'm sitting on a swing, my eyes are closed and my hair is whipping around my face as Leah pushes me. It was a beautiful sunny spring morning and the leaves on the trees behind us were wet with dew. I can still remember the joy I felt in those days. One single moment, forever frozen by the flash of a camera. That was when Leah didn't hate me._

_That was before Sam came along._

_He sits down beside me and gingerly touches the photograph in my hands._

"_I was so beautiful then," I say tearfully, blowing my nose. "So beautiful."_

_I can almost hear his heart clench in guilt at those words. Something akin to satisfaction fills me._

"_And Leah…oh, she didn't hate me then…I wish I could go back to that day, on the swings…before all of this…when I was still beautiful…"_

_Sam doesn't say a word._

_I sob loudly and cover the right side of my face in shame. This, at least, isn't pretend._

_His arm slips around my shoulders and he presses a gentle kiss to my unmarred cheek. "It'll be all right, Em," he whispers, his voice choked. "I'll be here for you."_

_That's not what I want him to say. I want him to say, "Please forgive me," or "I'm sorry for ruining your life, Emily."_

_But I know he can't, the coward. I'm getting closer, I think, with every passing day. One day I'll have him, completely at my mercy._

_He's my husband. My lover. My beloved, devoted Imprinter._

_He's mine._

_I will never let him forget._

_And when I do finally have him at my mercy, I will never give him my forgiveness._


End file.
